Are we really separated by physical distance, or are the mountains and miles just our changing moods and expressions? I see you across the room — the rocky coast, the foam: you are a lighthouse looking on the blind wreckage, on the longing, the love. And it is but one step to the opposite shore, to dusty flowers and innocent graveyards. What shall we make of it? Shall we go on believing we are apart? And is that not one more cause of war? What else can I say, and what can I dream, when the ageless sky is the bright window behind you, and your grace is a silhouette, delicious and dark?
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Categories: New Poems & Pieces